


This Curious Condition Called Love

by xtwilightzx (blackidyll)



Series: Big Bang and Reverse Bang Fics [6]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cross-cultural, Culture Shock, Fluff, M/M, Photography, Post-Series, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Social Media, Victuuri Big Bang 2017, basically the expatriate life and coping with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 01:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11347065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackidyll/pseuds/xtwilightzx
Summary: The bite of pancake is delightfully buttery, with a tang from the cheese curds. Yuuri isn't sure what his expression is like, but Victor's smile brightens, and his phone goes up."Saysyrniki!"That photo's going to end up on Instagram in less than a minute. Yuuri ducks, and when Victor whips his phone to follow, Yuuri grabs Victor's elbow and drags him over so they're both caught in the shot. Victor laughs, a long line of warmth mashed up against Yuuri's side. He tucks his arm around Yuuri's waist and raises his phone again.Victor uses variations of the same caption every time:Reexploring St. Petersburg with #katsukiyuuri #oneplateatatime"You're ridiculous," Yuuri whispers, after the camera goes off.Victor smiles. "Ridiculous, but yours."(Yuuri has done the transcontinental uprooting of his life twice before and it's never easy, but this time there are photos plastered all over Victor's social media, explorations into Russian cuisine, shenanigans with the Russian figure skating national team, calls and messages from friends and family, andVictor, always.Victor, on the other hand, mostly copes by watching Yuuri adapt to life in St. Petersburg).





	This Curious Condition Called Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artnica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artnica/gifts).



> Written for the [Yuri on Ice Victuuri Reverse Bang 2017!](http://yurionicebigbang.tumblr.com/)
> 
> So much love to my wonderful artist [art-rmlb](http://art-rmlb.tumblr.com/), whose gorgeous gorgeous (so gorgeous!) artwork and prompt inspired this story. It has been a delight working on this project with them and sharing our love for fluffy adorkable dramatically over-the-top but still so romantic Victuuri ♥. Please view [art-rmlb's artwork](http://art-rmlb.tumblr.com/post/162393924082/the-art-half-of-the-yurionicebigbang-the-other), and do drop them lots of praises and love for their beautiful art!

 

* * *

 

For someone who doesn't have any official social media accounts – according to Phichit, the accounts that Yuuri use to lurk _don't_ count – Yuuri has quite the online presence.

Yuuri would have thought that the official media coverage at competitions and the press releases by the JSF are enough to appease the public, but his then-roommate and best friend had assured him otherwise. Phichit had taken up the challenge of ensuring Yuuri's fans – _what fans_ , Yuuri used to ask – get plenty of glimpses of their lives both on and off the ice; when Yuuri left Detroit to move back to Hasetsu, Phichit told him that he'd received many a teary message from Yuuri's fans, lamenting that they'd no longer see Yuuri through the lenses of Phichit's phone camera. 

Those messages mostly stopped when Victor arrived in Hasetsu and began a campaign of turning all his social media accounts into Katsuki Yuuri fan accounts, with dashes of Hasetsu and Japanese culture on the side. 

Now that they're both in St. Petersburg, the contents of Victor's accounts have evened out. There are pictures of the city, sometimes of iconic landmarks but more often of little shops and back alleys and the waterfront, and quite a few throwback photos to his time in Hasetsu. There are candids of his rinkmates – Yurio, Mila, Georgi – and tantalizing glimpses of Victor's own progress on the ice – ten seconds of a step sequence, a close-up shot of the delicate beading of his new SP costume.

Yuuri is there, of course, in all corners of Victor's social media life. He's there in front of the shops in St. Petersburg, he's there in the throwback photos of Hasetsu's beaches. He's there amongst the Russians at the Yubileyny Sports Palace – Yuuri is their rinkmate now, sort of – and he's often the one filming Victor's step sequence or holding up the costume so Victor can fiddle with his phone to his heart's content. There will always be little fifteen-second clips of Yuuri himself on the ice, because at the end of the day, Victor is still Yuuri's coach _—_

 _—_ and his fiancé, which is why they're in a tiny little cafe risking Yakov's ire over a plate of fried cheese pancakes, beautifully golden, dusted generously with icing sugar and garnished with condensed milk and strawberry preserves.

"Just one plate, to share," Victor says when the plate is set down in front of them. "And an extra five kilometres on our morning run tomorrow, to work it off before practice."

It's Victor's epic food tour through Hasetsu and Beijing all over again, except this time Yuuri gets to taste the food along with him. After weeks and weeks of steamed broccoli and lean cuts of steamed chicken, Yuuri is all for breaking their diet, especially since Victor is careful to make an exception only once every week or so.

"They smell divine," Yuuri says; as an anxiety-ridden binge eater he has a clear preference for fried foods, with a distinct slant toward the sweet when he isn't feeling stressed.

"And since you haven't tried them before, you get to have the first bite." Victor pushes the plate in Yuuri's direction and leans his head on one hand to watch, his other hand tapping idly on his phone. "Try it with the _varenye_ first; the concentrated milk can be too milky for some."

Yuuri shoots a knowing look at the tapping hand, but reaches for the fork. The strawberry preserve is sweet and the bite of pancake underneath delightfully buttery and fluffy, with a tang from the cheese curds. Yuuri isn't sure what his own expression is like, but Victor's smile brightens, and his phone goes up, aimed in Yuuri's direction.

"Say _syrniki_!" he says, like Yuuri isn't still chewing on a mouthful of delicious pancake.

That photo's going to end up on Instagram in less than a minute. Yuuri ducks, and when Victor whips his phone to follow, Yuuri grabs Victor's elbow and drags him over, so they're both caught in the shot.

After all, it's still Victor's account, and Yuuri likes to see Victor himself in photos when he browses through his feed.

The resultant photo is probably a hilarious shot of the both of them at best, a blurry mess at worst, and Victor laughs, half breathless, a long line of warmth mashed up against Yuuri's side. The plate of _syrniki_ stays miraculously intact, although the fork Yuuri used is lost somewhere under the table, [but Victor tucks his arm around Yuuri's waist and raises his phone again, trying to catch the both of them and their dessert in the shot more photogenically this time.](http://68.media.tumblr.com/2352c9c495ee920be7c4f7bda220fae5/tumblr_osb5rtjUez1ud6lnco3_r1_540.png)

Victor uses variations of the same caption and hashtags every time: _Reexploring St. Petersburg with #katsukiyuuri #oneplateatatime_

"You're ridiculous," Yuuri whispers, after the camera goes off.

Victor smiles at him. "Ridiculous, but yours."

It's true, and Yuuri is completely, ridiculously in love.

\--

Yuuri has done the transcontinental uprooting of his life twice before, and he knows the best way to adapt is to keep himself busy. Since there are dozens more professional skaters on the ice in the Yubileyny Ice Palace compared to the smaller but calmer Ice Castle Hasetsu, Yuuri takes to practicing in one of the dance studios in the venue.

More often than not, he's joined by a ferociously scowling Yurio, whose expression just _dares_ Yuuri to comment. Their schedules tend align, mainly so Victor gets to practice under Yakov's iron hand and eagle-eyed gaze when he's not being a coach himself. It's not hard to fall back into the rhythm he and Yurio struck up before the Onsen on Ice competition, training off the ice and taking breaks together, although it's now Yurio who drags Yuuri into all sorts of cafes for lunch and interprets for him when Yuuri's tongue gets tied over all the strange Cyrillic syllables rather than the other way around.

If Victor is a star, burning brightly enough to light up an entire solar system, then Yurio is a comet, defiant and unchained by gravity. It still surprises Yuuri that Yurio deigns to listen when Yuuri gives him pointers when they're practicing forms at the barre, but then again, Yurio is just stubborn, not arrogant.

He'll do whatever it takes to win.

In those first few weeks, however, Yuuri has somehow forgotten that Yurio's gotten an intensive six-month advance course in ballet from a former prima ballerina whose prestige rivals Minako-sensei's own until said former prima ballerina sweeps into the studio one day.

Yuuri freezes in an arabesque, his eyes meeting Madame Baranovskaya's in the mirror; beside him, Yurio turns, simply saying, "You're back."

At the back of Yuuri's mind, a memory tickles: Victor's voice, saying something about how Madame Baranovskaya had some business with the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow to take care of now that Yurio had his routines down well, and would only be back in St. Petersburg ahead of the European Championships.

Madame Baranovskaya nods at Yurio. "You're practicing your forms. Good." And then her gaze cuts to the left and fixes on Yuuri, who slides slowly out of his arabesque; he has a feeling he'll need both feet beneath him to face up against her.

"So, you're Okukawa's protégé."

Yurio rolls his eyes, but keeps his comment to a murmur under his breath. "You know we're figure skaters, not ballet dancers, right?"

But Madame Baranovskaya hears him anyway; she fixes a cool look on him, and Yurio straightens his spine instinctively.

"Yuri, go find Yakov. Tell him now that Vitya is back in competition that I'll like a session with him. If he has aspirations for better performance scores, after all, he'll need to do better than just choreographing an emotive step sequence."

Somehow, Yuuri has a feeling that last comment is related to him in some way. 

Yurio darts a glance at Yuuri, but it's clear Madame Baranovskaya's influence is greater; he grabs his water bottle on the way out, throwing Yuuri one significant look before disappearing out the door.

Yuuri resists the urge to fidget by settling his feet in the first position, although he keeps his arms by his side for now. "Hello, Madame."

He's met her before, at the Rostelecom Cup after Victor flew back to Hasetsu to be with Makkachin and Yuuri had spent an afternoon in training with Yurio and Yakov and Madame Baranovskaya herself, although Yuuri is ashamed to say he remembers very little of it. They would have had little to say to each other even if Yuuri hadn't been in a daze, not with all the reporters and the ever-present cameras, Russian and Japanese both.

Now, however, they're on neutral ground, and Yuuri suspects that being Minako-sensei's student means that this encounter was always going to happen.

"We all know you can skate," Madame Baranovskaya says. "But I want to see what you can do in the studio. Start with the basic positions." She waits for Yuuri's nod. "Begin!"

Minako-sensei is strict, but she's also practically a member of Yuuri's family, a safe haven for his anxieties and a mentor on the stage and on the ice until he'd strengthened his flight wings under her care, and could fly away to distant lands to chase his dreams.

Madame Baranovskaya has all of Minako-sensei's professionalism and perfectionism and none of her warmth, at least not for Yuuri, and she puts Yuuri mercilessly through his paces, pushing Yuuri to his utmost with just a narrow-eyed stare, although she's worked with figure skaters enough that she doesn't strain him unduly.

Yuuri has learned from Minako-sensei that ballet techniques are impossible to perfect but it is possible to polish them to a shine; he's had years upon years of sweat and hard work and proper practice under his belt and he brings all of that to bear now, to make his every move graceful and confident.

He's not entirely sure what or whom he's trying to prove himself to; perhaps it's just Yuuri's own pride, to show that he is worth being called Minako-sensei's protégé and having Victor's unwavering regard, and that he's more than capable of standing his own ground in foreign city and an ice rink full of his fellow competitors.

Yuuri is drenched in sweat and has long entered that space of performance calm where he doesn't consciously think, just executes, when Madame Baranovskaya says at last, "Acceptable." 

He blinks at her a few times; an _acceptable_ from Minako-sensei would be just that – a true assessment of average performance – but coming from Madame Baranovskaya, Yuuri suspects that it's high praise indeed.

She eyes Yuuri for another minute. "Yura settles down and focuses more when he's with you. Okukawa did her job well; your ballet forms are decent, and he won't pick up bad habits from you. You may continue practicing your forms with him."

It sounds terribly clinical of her, but Yuuri understands Madame Baranovskaya's sentiments. Competition will always be rife amongst figure skaters, together with the drive to better one's self. He and Yurio have an interesting relationship – not quite friends, not quite rivals – but in Madame Baranovskaya's eyes, Yuuri will ever be the competition, and so she'll always favour Yurio.

Yuuri doesn't begrudge her or Yurio for that.

"Thank you, Madame."

The silence settles heavily over them; the sweat cools tackily against Yuuri's skin, but there's something satisfying about practicing under a premier ballerina once again, his muscles aching but feeling much looser, relaxed.

"Your short program," Madame Baranovskaya says suddenly, and Yuuri startles. "Your arm positions. I'm sure Okukawa has already pointed them out to you."

Victor might have choreographed _On Love: Eros_ , but it was under Minako-sensei's tutelage that Yuuri made the choreography _his_ , the seductress rather than the playboy, and she's certainly said plenty about his arm positions during the choreographic sequences.

"Yes, but thank you for the reminder. I'll work on that."

"Lilia," a familiar voice interjects, and Yuuri spins around, an unbidden smile already growing on his lips. Victor stands straight and tall, framed by the studio doors; he's wearing his usual practice clothes, gloves still on. "How was my Yuuri? He trained under a Prix Benois de la Danse ballerina, but I know how high your standards are."

"Vitya," Madame Baranovskaya says coolly, not at all affected by Victor's charm. "You have quite the bar to meet." She nods at Yuuri, an acknowledgment and dismissal both. "Katsuki, take the rest of the day off; I've pushed you hard today. And as for you, Vitya—"

Victor stumbles abruptly into the studio, his innate grace the only reason why he doesn't fall from the all mighty kick Yurio gives him. The younger skater darts forward then, grabbing their abandoned dance bags and then snagging Yuuri's arm like a constrictor holding onto its day's meal.

"Yakov says he's done with his skaters for the day," Yurio announces. "Victor's all yours, Lilia."

"Wait. What?" Victor says, and Yuuri almost laughs at the expression on his face: startled and caught off-guard, his eyes widening with dawning realization, and his mouth going quite a bit pouty for it.

He still sways the instinctive inch forward to meet Yuuri's brushed kiss against his cheek, before Yurio makes a loud noise of disgust and throws his entire body into towing Yuuri away.

"See you at home, Victor," Yuuri calls back; he doesn't quite dare to stop, not with Yurio's grip on his arm. Besides, there's a slight smile on Madame Baranovskaya's face but there's also a pointed glint in her eyes, and Yuuri's already done his time in the ballet studio.

"Yuuri, Yurio, I can't believe you're abandoning me!" is the last of what Yuuri hears, before the studio doors swing shut behind them.

\--

> "Hello, Minako-sensei? Mari-nee-chan told me to call you _—_ "
> 
> "Yuuri, why is it that I have to find out that Lilia Baranovskaya's finally come to her senses and decided to assess your ballet prowess from Yurio, of all people?"
> 
> "I... what _?_ "
> 
> "He still talks to Yuuko, you know! We had to read between the lines quite a bit, but it sounds like Baranovskaya's emphasizing less on turning him into a prima ballerina and more on incorporating the strengths of ballet into figure skating, and he seems to credit your presence for it. Although knowing Baranovskaya, she's merely adapting to Yurio's style on the ice after the Grand Prix Final, and you happen to be friends with him and can help ease the transition."
> 
> "Minako-sensei, you know Madame Baranovskaya?"
> 
> "In passing. I was a principal at the Mariinsky Ballet for some time, a few years after she became a Russian household name for her performances at the Bolshoi Ballet. The two ballet companies have a historical rivalry, so we knew of each other."
> 
> "............."
> 
> "Yuuri, you forgot that I'd spent time in St. Petersburg as well, didn't you?"
> 
> "No, of course I remember you were with the Mariinsky Ballet, your performance as Giselle is one of my favourites! I just never made the connection that it was based in St. Petersburg, somehow."
> 
> "Flatterer – you've only seen that performance from all those old footages someone unearthed and uploaded on YouTube."
> 
> "You were dancing a section from _Giselle_ the first time I followed Mari-nee-chan to your ballet studio."
> 
> "Was I? I'd forgotten about that. You know, I'd intended to sponsor your name to the Vaganova Ballet Academy if you wanted to continue as a danseur, but then you took to the ice with a fervour that surpassed the love you had for ballet, and we've never looked back since. And look at you now. You're in St. Petersburg after all, and you made it there all on your own."
> 
> "Not on my own. I had all of your support, and Victor."
> 
> "Well, at least we're not abstract this time."
> 
> "I guess that really wasn't the best way of phrasing it."
> 
> "And on a national broadcast, no less. So, Baranovskaya."
> 
> "Her standards are high, but her style is quite different from yours. She doesn't really work with me, though. She has sessions with Yakov’s students, but mostly she just points things out to me the odd times she sees me, usually when I'm practicing with Yurio."
> 
> "I expected no less. Unlike the other skaters, you were a danseur first and your foundation in ballet is immense. What Baranovskaya often has to remind and drill into her other students you already do naturally. Good. I'm glad to hear that. I worry, you know."
> 
> "I'm all right, Minako-sensei. I did okay in Detroit and I had to start completely from scratch there."
> 
> "America is quite the melting pot, so it's easier for you to blend in there. But the Russians, they take great pride in their culture and heritage. And your business is everyone else's business. It can be hard to take a breath, sometimes. Don't think I've forgotten how the audience treated you at the Rostelecom Cup."
> 
> "... I showed them, though. At least with my SP."
> 
> "Ha! Well, it must be difficult for Victor as well, dealing with those expectations. Still, I expect him to look out for you. Tell him I know where he lives; you've sent me your address, after all."
> 
> "Minako-sensei!"
> 
> "He's charismatic and adaptive, I'll give him that, but I know how much effort you and your family put in to make him feel welcomed in every way. I expect the same from him now that you're over there!"
> 
> "I'm fine!"
> 
> "And how are you doing with all the Russian customs?"
> 
> "... I'm figuring them out."
> 
> "All right, all right, I'll stop prodding you. You're friends with a number of Russians now, after all. I'll see you in Taipei for the Four Continents Championships, then. And remember to call your mother."
> 
> "I will."

\--

Training at the Russian skating rink is a revelation on team dynamics.

Yuuri's never trained with such a diverse and yet unified group of skaters before. Detroit itself might have been unapologetically American, but the skating club had ties to quite a number of universities and colleges in the region, and Phichit and Yuuri – international, expatriate, and decidedly non-American – were almost the norm than the exception. Celestino himself never lost the quirks of his home country, and Yuuri and Phichit had settled, if not naturally, then at least comfortably in the space between all the diverse nationalities and languages and habits, united by their otherness.

Here, at Yubileyny Ice Palace, the home base of Russia's national figure skating team, the majority of the skaters are headstrong and competitive, and undeniably Russian.

Here, Yakov's students all operate under a set of unspoken rules that Yuuri is still struggling to learn. Half the time, they call each other by diminutives – all of Russia, Yuuri has learned, is obsessed with diminutives – and he'd had to ask Victor for a cheatsheet, because who would have thought that Zhora was a logical diminutive of Georgi? Not Yuuri, who is struggling enough with learning to speak the language without delving into the specifics of the Cyrillic alphabet. The other half the time, it's Yakov barking instructions at his skaters, barely needing to use names; he just yells and then the appropriate skater will peel off, as if Yakov has a specific call for each of them, and they only need to listen for the tone of his yelling to know which of them he's addressing.

Yuuri wonders if that will ever happen with him, considering he's still formally training under Victor, but for now – the diminutives.

"Yurio," Yuuri says – and well, maybe his family back in Hasetsu isn't all that different, with the nicknames they've bestowed upon the Russians, a claim of familiarity that is audible to anyone with ears to hear. Yuuri’s mother has taken to calling Victor Vic-chan, which is all sorts of strange for Yuuri, since her tone of voice somehow makes it sound completely different from when she used to call for Vicchan the miniature poodle.

“What?” Yurio sounds neutral enough, if a little snappish; they’re going through cool down exercises after a session in the gym and Yurio is stubborn enough to keep pace with Yuuri, and Yuuri understands pride enough that he doesn’t tone his own regimen down, greater stamina notwithstanding.

“Diminutives,” Yuuri says. “The Russian team uses them frequently.”

“Not me,” Yurio says, and that’s true enough. It might be because he’s younger than all the other senior skaters, but Yuuri suspects that it’s simply Yurio’s nature not to bother with any terms of endearments. “What about them?”

“Just... I’m not sure about the social rules governing them. Do I need permission to use them? Should I? Is it rude _not_ to use them when everyone else at this rink is?”

Yurio shrugs and flips to his feet in one graceful movement, bracing his hands on his knees for a moment before he straightens, heading towards their gym bags. “Don’t you have something similiar back in Japan? Yuuko told me about them, since she uses them with her kids and everything, tags them onto the back of their names.”

“Honorifics,” Yuuri says, and Yurio waves him off, scowling.

“Yeah, whatever. Thing is, you don’t exactly expect people to use them for you, right? If they’re not Japanese.” Yurio scrubs a towel mercilessly over his skin, and then drags on his Team Russia jacket. “So why are you really asking?”

Yuuri pauses for just a moment and then plows right ahead, because showing any hesitation would probably just annoy Yurio further. “Do you think Victor would want me to use a diminutive for him?”

Yurio grinds to a halt, and his expression when he whips around to stare at Yuuri would probably win him tremendous performance points on the ice, if his theme is something along the lines of _condescending disbelief in humanity’s idiocy_.

After a moment, he deigns to speak. "How the hell would I know? I can't read his mind, and I don't want to," Yurio’s voice goes borderline disgusted now, "since he's probably thinking of you all the time."

 _But you're Russian_ , Yuuri doesn't say, _and this is a Russian thing, and I don't want to overstep or step wrongly and there are cultural potholes everywhere, how do I avoid them—_

Yuuri misses Phichit acutely in that moment, because that's when his friend would chime in with _you have to drive really, really fast so you fly over the potholes, and if you end up breaking a leg or two or maybe the car suspension then at least you're going out with a bang!_ , and Yuuri would lament that anyone ever allowed Phichit to take driving lessons, the few times he went back to Bangkok for visits, and they'll bend their heads close and try to figure out the strange American custom together.

"Katsudon," Yurio says, jerking up his jacket zip impatiently, and Yuuri's noticed that – that Yurio's started calling Yuuri by his name the few times he even bothers, and only reverts to _Katsudon_ when he's really annoyed. "Why the hell don't you just ask him?"

Well, yes. Asking Victor directly would solve a lot of Yuuri's problems, wouldn't it.

\--

Some days, it feels like Yuuri and Victor are constantly passing each other by: meeting and separating in intervals until their paths intersect once again. They spend a surprising amount of time apart for two people who live together, train at the same venue and have a professional relationship as coach and skater, which makes the moments when they are physically together all the more precious.  

But tonight, Victor’s chosen to sit across the couch, one leg folded neatly over the other, while Yuuri’s curled up against the other arm of the couch in his favourite sweater, legs tucked up on the cushions. Time was when Yuuri would say it isn’t like Victor to keep his distance – and in the first weeks in St. Petersburg Victor always did stay close, frequently brushing fingers against Yuuri’s hand or cheek or hair – but Yuuri’s learned better since.

Keeping a slight distance means Victor can study all of Yuuri at once, and Victor's clearly taken Yuuri's directive to _don't ever take your eyes off me_ to heart. 

Yuuri tries to concentrate on the article on his phone, but Victor’s gaze on him is like a spotlight cast upon Yuuri; Yuuri can feel his cheeks warming.

"What," Yuuri finally says, squirming terribly on the inside but also somewhat basking in the attention.

Victor smiles, and leans one elbow against the back of the couch, phone aimed in Yuuri’s direction. “May I?”

Yuuri huffs out an amused breath – he’s literally just sitting there – but nods anyway. [He waits for the click, and then asks, “What’s the caption for this one going to be? ‘Yuuri off the ice’?”](http://68.media.tumblr.com/76c410864b80624a2776509bb6940fbd/tumblr_osb5rtjUez1ud6lnco1_1280.png)

[Victor’s eyes flick up, and Yuuri thinks he sees a moment of startlement before Victor’s eyelashes sweep down low over his eyes](http://68.media.tumblr.com/76c410864b80624a2776509bb6940fbd/tumblr_osb5rtjUez1ud6lnco1_1280.png), a slow smile spreading across his lips. 

“Not bad, since my previous post is a clip of you practicing _Yuri on Ice_.” Victor’s fingers fly over his phone, and a moment later Yuuri feels his own phone buzz in his hand when the post goes up.

One day, Yuuri will turn off the alerts he set on all of Victor’s social media accounts, back when he was eighteen and alone in the unfamiliar and daunting landscape that is Detroit, ten thousand kilometers from home and clutching a brand new cell phone as his one lifeline off the ice. One day—

—another day.

It's a nice photo – Victor knows how to frame his shots – but it's—so plain. Yuuri's earlier sentiment still applies: he's really is just sitting there, hair down and glasses on and Yuuri studies himself on the screen, trying to figure out just what it is Victor had wanted to capture.

Well, Yuuri's hair is getting long. He'd cut it but it does keep the back of his neck warm, and Yuuri suspects that Victor has a secret fondness for it, since the longer it gets the more Victor's fingers linger in Yuuri's hair. 

"Yuuri," Victor says, and it's lovely, lovely, lovely, hearing the way his name curls on Victor's tongue. "What are you thinking?"

It's the perfect segue, and it's Yuuri's choice which direction he takes; he could answer Victor's question the way he expects, or approach it in the spirit of the question itself.

Perhaps it's a good thing that they're sitting across the couch from each other, so Yuuri can't use the distraction of Victor's sheer physicality as an excuse.

"Victor," Yuuri says, and then has to take a moment to unlock his phone so he can exit out of the article on Russian diminutives, which was very informative in a scholastic way but completely unhelpful when it came to the preferences of a world-famous figure skater.

When he looks back up, there's a tinge of concern in Victor's expression.

"It's nothing bad," Yuuri rushes to reassure him. "It's—just—do you want me to call you Vitya? Or—" he casts his mind back to that article "—Vitenka? I don't know."

Victor blinks about five times in rapid succession, and Yuuri can't help it; he rolls forward on his knees so he can brush his fingertips against the corners of Victor's eyes, feeling the muscles there twitch under his touch, long eyelashes tickling the pads of his fingers.

"You can't ask me a question like that and then distract me with yourself, Yuuri." There's fondness threaded through Victor's voice, however, and he reaches up to capture Yuuri's hand, curling their fingers together. "What brought this on? No one's said anything to you, have they?"

"No, but they didn't need to. I didn't think about it at all while we were in Japan, but every Russian at the rink uses diminutives, at least some of the time, and—I started thinking."

Victor sweeps his thumb against Yuuri's knuckles, and it's a soothing, rhythmic touch; grounding. "I'm not trying to dodge the question, I promise, but what about you? Do you have a preference for what I call you? The Japanese use honorifics and nicknames in a similar manner, right? Yuuko is Yuu-chan to you, because she's your best friend."

"Phichit might murder you if he hears you say that," Yuuri says, because Phichit knows all about Yuuko and loves her for her influence on Yuuri – "goodness knows we need more people in the _Katsuki Yuuri is amazing and we're here to remind him of that fact_ squad" – but he does have a tendency to hold onto his position as Yuuri's best friend quite tenaciously.

"One of your best friends, then," Victor wisely amends, and there's a little pause before they both start laughing, and Yuuri feels the last of the tension drain from his spine.

They've come a long way, both of them, from that night in Barcelona when misunderstandings and the unspoken had nearly sent them careening in two completely different directions, despite the unifying rings binding them on their fingers.

"Maybe I'd been in America for too long, and maybe I'm just used to it now, but I've always been Yuuri to you. I don't want to change that."

Victor is swift and adaptable and opportunistic on the ice; off it he can be just as quick, and his voice drops low, reverent, as he murmurs, "Yuuri."

Yuuri’s heart will never fail to jolt upon hearing his name – unmistakably his now, for all that he shares the same name with Yurio – in Victor’s voice, the way Victor’s eyes just lights up, brighter than Yuuri’s ever seen them.

"I—stop that," Yuuri has to say for his own self-preservation, because if he doesn't Victor will do that – murmur Yuuri's name in that voice – from now until forever and Yuuri will never get anything done, but the strength of Yuuri's grip on Victor's hand probably tells Victor otherwise.

"Would you believe me if I say that I feel the same way?" Victor says. "Everyone at the rink still calls me Vitya, but I’m hardly the same person who jumped on a plane all those months ago. This past year in Hasetsu, in Beijing, in Moscow, in Barcelona; you’ve grown tremendously as a figure skater, but so did I, as a person, and as man in love.”

Victor's smile is a little lopsided and Yuuri loves the simple imperfection of it, something Yuuri would never have learned the existence of through staged photoshoots and televised interviews or friendly, professional meetups as fellow competitors after a competition.

“We’ve changed and so have the circumstances around us, but not everything has to change. I’m happy to remain your Victor if you’ll always be my Yuuri.”

Yuuri's heart is full, full to the bursting, and it's magical, isn't it, how many times they can reiterate a variation of their commitment to each other and yet it never fails to feel as wondrous as the first time it happened, the night after Victor tackled him to the ice with a searing kiss to the lips.

"I guess you'll stay Victor forever then," Yuuri says, half-laughing, voice sticking a little with emotion, "since I will always be yours."

\-- 

> **Phichit Chulanont**  
>  Online  
>  \--
> 
>   
>  ciao ciao is letting me learn the quad  
>  salchow!
> 
> i’ve been practicing my quad toe watching  
>  videos of victor, but for the salchow please  
>  send me one of yours <3
> 
>   
>  that’s great!! congrats, i know how strict  
>  ciao ciao is with quads
> 
> why do you want videos of me?? i  
>  struggled with the salchow for years, you  
>  were there the whole time i was trying  
>  to learn it
> 
> if yurio lets me, i’ll send you the vids i took  
>  of his quad salchow. i perfected mine  
>  watching him
> 
>   
>  i won’t say no, but i still want one of yours  
>    
> 
> 
> ugh WHY
> 
>   
>  how many years have you known me?
> 
>   
>  good point
> 
> fine, i will ask victor to film me performing  
>   the quad salchow  
>    
> 
> 
> thank you!
> 
> how's st petersburg? you look fab in your  
>  photos on victor’s accounts  
>    
> 
> 
> different. but good
> 
> it’s really really really cold here though
> 
> we spend hours and hours on the ice,  
>  you’d think i’d be used to it, but no
> 
>   
>  send me some of the cold!!!
> 
> it's been a few months since i came back  
>  to thailand but i still can’t get used to the  
>  blazing tropical heat again
> 
> give me my four seasons  
>    
> 
> 
> oh no, is it really bad?
> 
>   
>  it's the cooler part of the year now,  
>  fortunately
> 
> it was worse when i first came back. i grew  
>  up in bangkok but a few years abroad and  
>  it’s like i’ve forgotten what the city’s really  
>  like
> 
> sometimes i go to sleep and i wake up in  
>  the middle of the night dehydrated and  
>  that’s never good for practice
> 
> my mom looks at me like i've failed as a  
>  thai when i get all frazzled by the heat  
>    
> 
> 
> take care! don't fall sick from the  
>   temperature extremes
> 
>   
>  i will!
> 
> did you figure things out with your  
>  diminutive dilemma?  
>    
> 
> 
> mm yes  
>    
> 
> 
> that’s it?  
>    
> 
> 
> that's it  
>    
> 
> 
> okay, private thing with victor, i get it.  
>  congrats in order?
> 
>   
>  ...we’re already engaged though?   
>   
> 
> it gives me great and incredible joy that  
>  despite that question mark you’re saying  
>  that without a trace of doubt in your voice  
>  (i know this is text, shush i can tell)  
>    
> 
> 
> i...
> 
> thanks, phichit
> 
> one day i’ll conquer all these russian  
>  customs yet! o/  
>    
> 
> 
> i'm rooting for you!! \o/

\--

Yuuri knows that he’s never going to quite fit in in St. Petersburg the way he never did quite fit in in Detroit, the way Hasetsu was achingly familiar and yet different all the same when he finally went home. Yuuri is an amalgamation of international experiences, his Japanese background tempered by his years in America and weeks abroad in all corners of the world – the trick, he’s learned through Phichit, is to accept that fact, and find a niche for himself anyway.

It helps tremendously that the Russian team as a whole – now that Yurio’s mellowed down to insulting and yelling at Yuuri only half the time, and mostly as a matter of habit – have gamely folded Yuuri into their midst.

"Hi Yuuri," Mila says, trouble lighting her grin. She leans over the side of the rink, and gives him a pointed look over. "You look a little different today."

Yuuri likes Mila. She reminds him a little of Minako-sensei – the wild teasing and casual irreverence – and of Yuuko – because even when she's baiting Yurio, it's with a well-hidden kindness – and she has her quiet, poignant moments, which Yuuri discovered because there's a spot high up in the Ice Palace stands that is half hidden by an outcropping but affords a beautiful panoramic view of the rinks, and he and Mila sometimes cross paths there.

He thought she would have resented someone discovering her private hiding spot, but she never says a word, just nods at him in silence and goes back to contemplating the ice, and the quiet is comforting. Yuuri gets it, the one time he'd come up and Mila had been curled into a tight ball, her arms wrapped around her legs and her chin tucked to her knees, the hood of her jacket pulled up over her striking hair. She'd glanced at him as he took his usual seat, three rows down and five seats to the side, and then next time Yuuri had chanced a look at her, her posture had seemed looser – more relaxed.

Up there, they are solitary, but not alone.

Right now, however, Mila is all boisterous energy, and she reaches out, flicks a light hand against the collar of Victor's jacket, which Yuuri wears over his shoulders, over the top of his Japan national team jacket.

"I'm in camouflage," he tells her, and she laughs.

"I don't think it's working, _vorona_ , especially when you're the only one with an Olympic jacket over your shoulders.”

Yuuri’s fingers curl automatically into the folds of Victor’s jacket, red on white, strikingly different from the predominantly white on blue of the usual Russian national team jacket. It’s not that Yuuri doesn’t have an Olympic jacket of his own; he was one of Japan's more experienced senior men’s single figure skaters and the JSF had needed to send a team to Sochi, but Yuuri had barely made the top ten, while Victor had taken the gold, of course.

Yuuri will always love this particular official jacket of Victor’s, if only because he’d seen Victor lift the Olympic gold while wearing the very same jacket live and in person, rather than through a broadcast. They’ve both competed in the Grand Prix Series and at Worlds often enough, but something about the Olympics makes everything more visceral, and watching that awards ceremony that evening had been one of the impetuses that drove Yuuri the following seasons, until he’d finally made it into the Grand Prix Final.

“Someone’s got to keep a hold of Victor’s belongings when he’s practicing on the ice; it might as well be me,” is what Yuuri says out loud.

“Hmm,” Mila hums. “You know, it’s usually the partner who puts the jacket on you as a claim.”

What can Yuuri say? He's the one who bought a pair of beautifully gleaming and extremely visible gold rings, and made sure he got it on Victor's finger the night before one of the figure skating world's biggest and most televised competitions. Yuuri is all about visual marks of mutual claim, and he'll stay wrapped up entirely in Victor's jacket for as long as Victor lets him.

Besides, St. Petersburg is much colder than either Detroit or Hasetsu, and Victor's jacket is very warm. With the subtle traces of sweat and the shampoo Victor favours, it's a good enough substitute for one of Victor's all-engulfing hugs.

“Why do you think Victor didn’t?” Yuuri says anyway.

“Vitya's always trained at this rink, which means the rest of us more or less grew up knowing him.” Mila’s voice is full of mirth, and her grin when she brushes her hair from her face is mischief incarnate. “He’s suave and dapper in front of the cameras and the reporters, but truthfully? He’s a disaster. I mean, he shipped all his costumes to Japan for you and Yura. Sixteen boxes worth, express shipping, _expensive_ as hell, and now that black sparkling mesh costume of his from his Junior days is your signature look. Jackets are too subtle for him.”

Yuuri’s face is _flaming_ , because it’d made a difference, knowing that he was wearing one of Victor’s old costumes. That although Yuuri had long redefined the image of that costume, the routine, it was also a reminder of the very first time Victor had captivated Yuuri, and how with _On Love: Eros_ , it was Yuuri’s turn to captivate, to seduce Victor.

No, neither of them do subtlety, it seems.

Mila lets him squirm for another few moments, and then laughs.

“Well, it’s a pretty good look for you. The Japan jacket is so monochromatic _;_ you just blend right into it; Vitya’s jacket suits you much better. Anyway, you’re practically an honorary member of the Russian team.”

“I am?” Yuuri blurts out, surprised enough that he doesn’t manage to catch himself.

Mila smiles, and there's a softer edge to it – less teasing and more of a friend sharing a confidence. “Of course you are. Russia’s living legend is coaching you, Yakov has yelled at you in the kiss and cry, Madame Baranovskaya is using you so Yura practices his ballet forms more seriously, and Yura actually, genuinely, respects you as a skater.”

She twirls lightly on her skates, and Yuuri follows her gaze to the other side of the rink, where Victor is cutting delicate lines across the ice, lost to the music on his headphones, ice motes sparkling in his wake.

“And most importantly, Victor loves you. For those of us that care about him, that’s all it takes, really.”

\--

The thing about Victor is that when he likes something, he can't help but be obvious about it. He loves Makkachin, and so carries a little stuffed poodle tissue holder to his own competitions as well as to Yuuri's. He loves Yuuri, and that's why Yuuri is plastered all over his social media.

He also, evidently, really loves Yuuri's hair.

Yuuri is going through official paperwork from the JSF when he feels a presence looming over him and fingers carding through his hair, tousling his bangs until they feel unruly and windswept.

 _But it's not the Russian wind_ , Yuuri thinks, amused, _just a Russian man who loves playing my hair like it's the equivalent of a stress_ _ball_.

He lets Victor go at it, because it's incredibly relaxing for him too – Victor continues combing his fingers through Yuuri's hair, smoothing it back, careful not to nudge Yuuri's glasses out of place, and then scratches his fingers against Yuuri's scalp, gently messaging. It's soothing and undemanding, and Yuuri lets himself enjoy it for a long minute before he goes back to his paperwork with renewed vigour.

He flies through the documents faster than usual and sets them aside with a satisfied sigh, tipping his head back into Victor's touch.

"Feel better?" he asks.

When Victor doesn't answer, Yuuri straightens, turning around to regard him over the back of the couch. Victor's hand falls reluctantly from Yuuri's hair, but his expression, when Yuuri gets a good look at him, is relaxed, a wry smile on his face, only a little tinged with melancholy.

"Victor?"

"I miss Hasetsu." Victor's voice is quiet but the words come out without hesitation, like he's already accepted the loss and knows he has to live with it.

Yuuri stares at him, and then he leans up to throw his arms around Victor's waist, pressing his face into Victor's chest. It's a little awkward and unwieldy with the back of the couch between them, but Yuuri isn't going to waste the precious few seconds it takes to stand up and walk around the couch.

It evidently works, because Yuuri feels Victor relax further, and then there are two hands carding through Yuuri's hair this time before they smooth down the sides of Yuuri's throat to settle lightly on Yuuri's shoulders.

"I miss Hasetsu too," Yuuri says, raising his head just enough so his glasses don't dig into his face and so he can meet Victor's gaze. "But St. Petersburg is a beautiful city, and it's home, right?"

Victor looks down at him for a long while, and the smile that graces his face has strange, knowing curve to it. "That, it certainly is."

He sweeps the back of one hand against the edge of Yuuri's jaw, his eyes never looking away, and Yuuri lets out an inadvertent huff of laughter; it's ticklish.

"What are you doing?"

"Memorizing this moment," Victor says softly, and then leans down to kiss Yuuri.

\--

Yuuri likes St. Petersburg, but there are a few things he really does miss about Hasetsu. All of Victor's apartment is warm, even warmer than Yu-topia, if Yuuri had to compare, which tends to have uneven heating throughout the rooms – warmer near the springs, and draftier towards the front, which faces the sea and receives the brunt of the ocean wind – but the cold bites so much harder here, and as much as Yuuri would love to curl up on the couch under several blankets, he's a professional athlete.

Some days the cold sinks into Yuuri's bones on his morning runs and lingers there throughout his entire session on the ice, and by the time he makes it home he's chilled all the way through, his muscles tight and aching not just from the day's workout but from all the shivering. Yuuri misses the hot springs most acutely then, misses bathing in mineral-rich waters just on this side of _too_ hot, warm stone at his back and the endless sky above him.

Still, there are little consolations. The enclosed space of the bathroom means that when Yuuri fills up the bathtub with hot water and shuts the door the entire space steams up, almost like a sauna, and Makkachin will sneak in and curl up on the bathroom rug, head down on her paws and her tail wagging slowly in contentment.

Makkachin is just as enthusiastic and happy as she ever was in Hasetsu, although she tends to get a little more sluggish in St. Petersburg because of the cold. Yuuri empathizes – Makkachin is quite venerable in terms of dog years, no matter how well she deals with international migration – and the warm steam is probably quite soothing on her elderly bones, and so Yuuri will always leave the bathroom door ajar when he's filling the tub, so Makkachin can nose her way in if she so pleases.

She always does.

Yuuri spends long, long minutes sunk up to his chin in hot water, leaning back a few times to stare at the steam curling along the ceiling, letting the water fill his ears and muffle the rest of the world. When he's unwound enough, Yuuri props one arm on cold porcelain - chilly, chilly, chilly, but it's worth it so he can tuck his head against his forearm and reach over the side of the bathtub to rub Makkachin's ears.

"You miss the _onsen_ too, huh," he says. "But this isn't too bad, right? I get to have you here with me."

Makkachin gives a sleepy woof of concurrence, her tail picking up a little more speed.

There's a knock on the door, and both Yuuri and Makkachin raise their heads.

"Come in," Yuuri calls – that's another difference from Hasetsu's public hot spring pools, but a door is a door for a reason, Victor told him once, and if Yuuri has it closed there's usually a good reason for it.

Part of Yuuri wants to point out that it's silly to take a bath or shower with the bathroom doors opened, but if there's one thing Yuuri has learned from months and months of living with Victor it's that they both need their own space occasionally, and that Victor will always respect his need for it.

The door swings open with a rush of cooler air that makes Makkachin shake her head, as if to shake off the chill. Victor coos an apology to her, already shutting the door behind him, and leans back against the door frame with a grin on his face that goes softer when he locks gazes with Yuuri.

Yuuri has used water hot enough that the bathwater is still pleasantly warm even after a half-hour soak, but he still feels a little shiver go down his spine.

"Hello, beautiful," Victor says, so softly and fondly that it's not a line at all.

"You're one to talk," Yuuri counters, flustered. Victor wears everything well, from his costumes on the ice to beautifully tailored three piece suits, but he's in casual formal today, fitted dark jeans and a sports jacket, and the lingering steam in the bathroom is making the hair at the nape of his neck curl just a little. Yuuri draws his hand back, sinks further into the bath in hopes it'll obscure his expression. "How did it go?"

"As well as expected. The RSF is having conniptions over me again.” Victor says wryly. He sweeps one hand through his bangs, and then kneels to give Makkachin some well-deserved pats and belly rubs. “How was practice?”

There’s a _note_ in Victor’s voice that Yuuri can do very little about except to continue to do his best on the ice, because Victor always feels guilty when Yuuri ends up on the ice on his own, never mind that Yuuri has already mastered his routines and has Yakov and Madame Baranovskaya and all of the Russian skaters there to throw unexpected tips and advice his way.

The price for having Victor back as a competitor is watching him struggle to find a balance juggling his responsibilities as Yuuri’s coach, being a worthy contender upon the ice himself, and the rest of his life, relationships, friendships and all.

Victor hadn’t been idle in Hasetsu – he'd been out on the ice almost as often as Yuuri was, especially in the early mornings when Yuuri was still half-dead to the world or out on his daily run. Despite his tendency to eat anything whilst in Japan Victor was in good form, and putting together decent programs isn't difficult when he'd been skating fragments of choreographies over the eight months in Hasetsu. But at the end of the day Victor is still human, and there are only so many hours in the day. Victor smiles and laughs in St. Petersburg as much as he did in Hasetsu, but it's hard to miss the faint shadows growing under his eyes, the way he clings just a little harder to Yuuri in the early hours of dawn before he presses a kiss to Yuuri's forehead and rolls out of bed, as if to make up for how little he sometimes gets to see Yuuri for the rest of the day.

It’s harder than Yuuri expects, watching how hard Victor pushes himself.

Victor would argue against that. Victor would argue that the price, if they want to call it that, is that Yuuri has a coach whose priorities are split, and then it becomes a circular argument about who is sacrificing more for their current situation, an arrangement that makes both of them happy so much of the time. Maybe the difference is that they both are willing to pay the price, together, and meet each other halfway.

So Yuuri doesn’t mention or dismiss the guilt in Victor’s voice, and seeks to banish it in more productive ways.

“I worked on the step sequences for _On Love: Eros_ ; I was trying to incorporate the new arm positions and I had to make some adjustments, but I think they’ll work well. I’m pretty hungry though, so if you’re up for it, we can go out for food and exchange updates on our day over dinner. I’d love to try something local tonight.” 

Victor visibly brightens at that – he truly does have an obsession with getting Yuuri to try all kinds of Russian foods. They’ve gone systematically through the most iconic, like borsch, _pelmeni_ – Russian dumplings – and stroganoff, and have started into the more unconventional ones, but considering Victor’s mood, Yuuri has a feeling they’ll have something more comforting and homey tonight.

“I know just the place!” Victor says, and Makkachin barks as if in agreement. “It’s a little street side place but the food is delicious. I’ll go make a call; they know me there and if we give them notice, they’ll let us bring Makkachin.”

He leaps to his feet, Makkachin jumping up in equal enthusiasm, her earlier sleepiness banished by Victor’s obvious excitement. Yuuri smiles – it’s wonderful watching the both of them when they’re happy – and then Victor braces one hand on the side of the tub, leans over and plants a kiss in Yuuri’s damp hair.

He pulls back a moment later, grinning. “Smells like my shampoo.”

“Out,” Yuuri orders, blushing _again_ ; so what if he occasionally uses Victor’s extremely expensive herbal shampoo because it’d been a long day and he misses his silly, charming and over-the-top fiancé?

Victor ducks out of the bathroom with a laugh, Makkachin dancing at his heels.

\-- 

> **[DIRECT]  
>  christophe-gc ** to **katsukiyuuri**
> 
> **  
> christophe-gc** your #oneplateatatime photo series on victor’s account is making me hungry at the most inconvenient of times
> 
> **katsukiyuuri** sorry. dinner’s on us the next time you’re in russia? 
> 
> **christophe-gc** i’ll hold you to that
> 
> **christophe-gc** do you take as many photos of him as he does you?
> 
> **christophe-gc** the world’ll love to see more of their living legend now that he’s back on the competitive circuit, you know
> 
> **katsukiyuuri**...i film his routines and make sure he features in as photos as i can drag him into whenever he tries to snap one of me?
> 
> **christophe-gc** i did notice that. you two are so cute, it makes my teeth ache
> 
> **christophe-gc** well victor takes photos for a multitude of reasons
> 
> **christophe-gc** as long as they make him happy
> 
> **christophe-gc** the way i’m sure you make him happy. in all ways. on the ice. off the ice. on a pole. have you practiced recently?
> 
> **katsukiyuuri** chris!
> 
> **christophe-gc** just because you two were sweet and loving this GPF banquet after that exhibition duet of yours doesn’t erase what happened the year before ;););)
> 
> **christophe-gc** after all, victor’s extensive photo reel of you begins there
> 
> **christophe-gc** know your history
> 
> **katsukiyuuri** i do. victor's shown them to me a couple of times
> 
> **katsukiyuuri**... a couple of times because it’s taken me a few tries to get through them; they’re embarrassing
> 
> **christophe-gc** you wound me, yuuri – we were magnificent on that pole, if i do say so myself
> 
> **katsukiyuuri** you’re biased
> 
> **christophe-gc** victor certainly thinks so too
> 
> **katsukiyuuri** he’s biased
> 
> **christophe-gc** oh, that he most definitely is

\--

Another week and another day at the rink; they're both on the ice today, Yuuri finishing up his practice session, Victor scheduled to work with Yakov in about fifteen minutes. Victor's absentmindedly skating little circles as preliminary warm-up, his eyes mostly on his phone, while Yuuri gulps down water, brushing his sweaty bangs out of his eyes with the back of his glove.

"I was right about the tanos," Victor says, when the video finally runs to an end. "Good height on the jumps, but you're not quite getting the right angle for your arm and it's throwing your landings slightly out of balance." He skates towards Yuuri. "Here, homework for you – I took videos of all your SP run-throughs today. The second one was the cleanest, but your jumps were better for the others. Take note of the elements leading into the jumps, and we'll work on the timing tomorrow so you have enough time to set up for the tanos properly."

The shape of Victor's phone is almost as familiar as Yuuri's own, and Yuuri takes it with a nod and a silent groan because he hates watching himself skate – he tends to fixate on everything he does wrong without tempering it with acknowledging what he did do right. Victor fixes him a stern look because he _knows_ Yuuri, and then he draws close to brush a kiss against Yuuri's forehead.

"You did really well today," he says, eyes now soft and tender, the proud fiancé rather than the coach, and Yuuri can't help his smile. "I'll see you later tonight, all right?"

Yurio has asked Yuuri a few times, accompanied with a puzzled glare, "How the hell do you handle Victor being your coach and boyfriend—" ("Fiancé," Yuuri corrects gently but firmly; " _whatever_ , Katsudon, eternally sappy partners, then") "—and a competitor all at the same time? He's _always there_ , but he's different each time, doesn't that drive you crazy?" and Yuuri never quite knows how to answer him.

All he knows is that it does work. Victor is Victor, after all, no matter the labels anyone assigns him, but saying that would probably make Yurio kick him in frustration, so Yuuri mostly just lets him rant on.

"Don't tease Yurio," Yuuri advises. "Yakov looked fit to murder the both of you last time and I really want to see the changes Yurio plans to make to his FS."

Victor smiles as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "Speaking of changes, Chris has been asking me about the Sochi GPF banquet videos. Apparently I have the most complete set of videos filmed at the best angle—" Yuuri had been fine until that last statement, after which he promptly goes red in mortification "—and he wants to incorporate some of those pole-dancing elements in his routines to maximize his sex appeal."

He pauses for a moment and brushes his thumb against Yuuri's cheek as if to rub Yuuri's blush away. "I know how you feel about those videos, so it's up to you if you want to send them to him or not. I mean, you were up on that pole with him, but I guess it's different watching yourself."

"Victor!" Yuuri pushes at him in protest, and Victor glides back a few paces, too amused to resist. "Go... practice or something."

Victor laughs. "Just forward them to Chris directly if you're okay with it. He's been asking me about them for days; I just kept forgetting."

"You're terrible," Yuuri tells him directly, and then turns around and makes for the rink exit to salvage the rest of his dignity.

A shower, a juice box, an extremely healthy oat and raisin energy bar – Yuuri finds himself missing last week's _zharkoye,_ a homey beef stew, immensely – and one purloined Olympic jacket later, Yuuri makes his way up to his and Mila's hiding spot up in the audience stands. From here, the chatter and noise from the rink filters out into ambient noise, and Yuuri watches the Russian skaters for a while – Victor recognizable by the way he skates alone, Yurio a flare of movement constantly cutting across his path – before turning his attention firmly to Victor's phone.

He watches the footages of his SP for a good half hour, taking notes on his phone along the way, and then exits out of Victor's most recent photos and media to look for the Sochi GPF banquet videos. Yuuri really doesn't have a good reason not to send them to Chris other than sheer embarrassment, and Mari's reminded him plenty of times that he has no one to blame but himself ("You challenged the world and invited them to hate you for taking Victor away from the ice. Victor kissed your skates and you didn't bat an eyelash. And then you practically skated a wedding dance for your final exhibition performance. _You_ keep doing that, little brother.").

Victor is meticulous with his gallery and he never seems to delete anything, and Yuuri scrolls through the albums with a smile. The folder holding all the practice videos of Yuuri's performances this season is achieved at the top of the list, followed by the Makkachin album. The number of photos in the Hasetsu folder is stagnant, but the ones for St. Petersburg have increased exponentially. Photos from the Barcelona GPF get their own folder and Yuuri knows exactly what's in there, since he has duplicates on his own phone: shots of both of them at the kiss and cry after Yuuri broke Victor's FS world record and videos of their exhibition duet, of course, filmed by Chris and Phichit.

Strangely, there's an unnamed folder below the Sochi GPF banquet album, and Yuuri would ignore it except that the preview image is a shot of himself, and not one that Yuuri recognizes from any of Victor's social media accounts.

[Before Yuuri quite realizes what he's doing, he's tapped into the folder, and—they're all of Yuuri himself.](http://68.media.tumblr.com/5ae188d48b3b996c411bc54c8d23b99d/tumblr_osb5rtjUez1ud6lnco2_1280.png)

[There's Yuuri standing outdoors, huddled under a voluminous scarf, his expression barely visible through the wisps of steam curling delicately from the mug of hot tea cradled protectively between his hands. There's Yuuri in a derrièrein un développé, Lilia visible as a reflection in the dance studio mirrors. There's Yuuri and Yurio in the gym, each engrossed in their own exercises. There's Yuuri standing rinkside with Mila, Yurio and Georgi, united against a clearly yelling Yakov, likely taken from the audience stands and zoomed in for how blurry and off-center the shot is. There's Yuuri in Victor's jacket talking to Mila, the shot just slightly out of focus so that the fiery red of Mila's hair and Victor's jacket stand out all the more.](http://68.media.tumblr.com/5ae188d48b3b996c411bc54c8d23b99d/tumblr_osb5rtjUez1ud6lnco2_1280.png)

Yuuri flicks through the reel on autopilot, his thoughts a blur of white noise. He's never seen any of these photos before, and the ones he's gone through have a few things in common: they all feature Yuuri in some way, and the Yuuri in the photos never looks at the photographer – Victor. 

There's Yuuri with Yurio, identified by the perfect contrast of their hair and their national team jackets, Yuuri chewing absentmindedly on the straw of his juicebox, Yuuri cuddled up with Makkachin, the both of them fast asleep, Yuuri studying his phone, backlit by the Yubileyny Sports Palace's wide windows and his expression throw in darkness, Yuuri—

—oh—

Yuuri sitting on their couch, hair down and glasses on and smiling in amusement, the one photo where Yuuri was looking straight at Victor at the moment the shot was captured, the only photo that appeared on Victor's Instagram, because Yuuri gave permission.

Yuuri exits out of that image, his heart pounding, and stares at all the little thumbnails with fresh eyes, the realization hitting him like a wave, all-consuming and unavoidable. Singularly, the photos just look like opportunistic candids taken in an instance of whimsical playfulness, but put together the photos form a clear narrative, and each moment gains an intimacy that is nearly too much to bear.

It would be obvious even to a total stranger that the photographer is completely and utterly in love with the person he's memorialized in these snapshots.

An angry roar echoes around the rink and Yuuri startles out of his daze. Up here, there's no way Yuuri can hear the specifics of Yakov's ire, but from the way Yurio is chasing Victor around the rink, Victor must have said or done something to provoke Yurio again.

Yuuri glances back down at Victor's phone, and then goes through the Sochi GPF banquet photos and videos again, picking out the ones that he thinks Chris looks best in before typing out a message that is probably more frank than he would ever be if Yuuri isn't still reeling: _This is Yuuri. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think these would work better incorporated into a pair skate. I'm not volunteering, though. Good luck!_

The message zips off into the ether, and Yuuri closes Victor's phone before Chris can message back. There's a strange jitteriness coursing through him, a mix of anxiousness and adrenaline and emotion welling up at once, and Yuuri rubs the pads of his thumbs against his fingertips. He'd normally take to the ice in an attempt to shake the feeling but he'd already had his ice time today, and Yuuri doesn't want to talk to anyone, not when his mind is buzzing.

He rises to his feet, Victor's jacket flaring out around him, and fumbles for his own phone and headphones. The urge to run away is almost irresistible, and Yuuri knows that if he gets out and far away enough from this realization that he can suppress his emotional reaction to it, push it down until it becomes subconscious and barely a problem, a simmer instead of the roiling boil his heart feels like it's going through right now.

The photos themselves don’t bother Yuuri as much as they should; as a top athlete he is used to press conferences and reporters and the paparazzi, and during competitions he is always performing for an audience. There's something about that collection of photos, however, that makes Yuuri self-conscious. The pressure of carrying Japan's hopes and dreams on the ice will never settle comfortably on Yuuri's shoulders, but it's a weight he's used to. Living up to Victor's love, on the other hand, is almost frightening at times, because Yuuri never wants to risk losing it, and—

Well. Yuuri does irrational things when he's afraid, but he wants to do better than that.

Yuuri has experience behind him now. His anxiety is never going to go away, but neither is Victor, and that's the point, isn't it? Even when Yuuri's thoughts turn incoherent and threaten to overwhelm good reason, he can count on Victor to always have his best interest at heart, questionable methods aside.

Down on the ice, Victor is gliding into a beautiful ina bauer, steady and graceful, and even Yurio has paused to watch. Yuuri can't help smiling; he'll always love watching Victor on the ice, and he pulls the jacket tighter around his shoulders, determined.

Two more hours until Victor gets off the ice. Dance studio it is then.

\--

Victor must have figured out that something has changed, because he lets Yuuri steal his scarf and keeps peacefully silent, giving Yuuri space while at the same time tucking Yuuri close to his side so Yuuri barely even has to think, just lets Victor shelter him from the wind and guide him all the way back home.

It’s a little selfish of him, Yuuri knows. He’s mostly settled now and just don’t want to talk about the photos in public, but it’s still a novelty to let Victor pamper him and a secret part of Yuuri revels in that, in how indulgent Victor can be and how much he’s prepared to let Yuuri get away with. Still, it doesn’t seem fair to let Victor worry over him, so when they finish their post-training routine – clearing their bags and checking their skates, feeding Makkachin and giving her dozens of pats and belly rubs until she’s satisfied and willing to let them out of her sight, treating any new blisters or sores on their feet – Yuuri cups one hand against Victor’s cheek, stroking along the strong jaw with the tips of his fingers, and draws him close to brush a light kiss against his lips, the clearest signal he can give that he’s ready to engage with the world again.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, and draws back.

Victor smiles. “Always,” he says, and slides his fingertips along the length of his cashmere scarf still draped loosely over Yuuri’s shoulders, an unspoken question.

Yuuri leans back, lets Victor pull the scarf away – he’s at home with Victor beside him, and Yuuri hardly needs the extra bit of security wearing Victor’s clothing gives him. As Victor carefully rolls up the scarf and puts it to one side, Yuuri draws Victor’s phone from his pocket and navigates back to that unnamed folder.

“So um,” Yuuri says, not quite able to look away from all the images of himself, all the quiet little moments that somehow seem to capture the essence of who Yuuri truly is, rather than the drama and glamour he - and other competitive skaters - are so often associated with when performing on the ice. “I accidentally found these photos on your phone. I mean, I was looking for the Sochi GPF banquet footages, to send to Chris like you said – I did send them, by the way, and I’m guessing from all the incoming message alerts that he’s quite pleased with them – I don’t know, I didn’t check – but anyway, I found these photos, and I...”

Yuuri trails off, and then glances up suddenly, because it’s rare for Victor to let Yuuri ramble on so self-consciously and nervously without at least giving him a reassuring touch, and—

Victor has gone entirely white.

“Victor?” Yuuri says, alarmed, and drops the phone to the side, reaching out to take Victor’s hand.

“I-I,” Victor stammers, and it’s so unlike Victor that it throws Yuuri even more off-guard. Their fingers catch and curl together urgently, and it must have some kind of grounding effect, because Victor manages to laugh a moment later, albeit a little breathless and hysteric. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to keep them hidden, but somehow I just never expected you to actually find those photos.”

He’s recovered enough to blush now, splotches of colour on his cheeks that when combined with the pallor of his complexion makes Victor look feverish, and Yuuri realizes with a start that Victor is...

Embarrassed?

Strangely, that revelation makes Yuuri go limp with relief. He squeezes Victor’s hand. “Victor, I have an extensive collection of limited edition posters of you that I’ve been collecting since I was twelve, so the fact that you have a photo album dedicated to me isn’t that weird, if you think about it that way.”

Victor squeezes his hand back. “That’s different though. I knew what I was getting into when I posed for those photo shoots, that those posters were always meant for public consumption. But you value your privacy, and I know how much it can throw you off when something you don’t expect shows up on the internet.”

“Between the triplets and Phichit,” Yuuri says wryly, “you’d think I’d be used to it by now.”

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Victor insists. “I mean, Phichit’s your best friend – one of them, anyway – so he gets away with a lot of things, but I don’t want you to have to deal with that when it’s me.” He droops suddenly, his earlier fierce determination fading to guilt. “But I still took pictures of you secretly anyway.”

Yuuri stares at Victor for a long, long minute, at a complete loss at what to say, and it takes Victor trying to slide his hand free from Yuuri’s grip for him to jolt out of it.

“Hey!” he snaps, and Victor freezes instantly. Yuuri resists the urge to smack himself because goodness, he’s really horrible at comforting people. “Hey,” he says, more softly this time, and shakes Victor’s hand a little to get him to look up.

“I’m sorry,” Victor says the instance their eyes meet, so sincerely that Yuuri wants to put his head down and either laugh hysterically or maybe cry, because what _is_ this conversation? Yuuri’s completely lost track of it. “The photos upset you – that’s why you were so quiet on the way back. I’m the cause of that. I’m sorry.”

The apology sinks into Yuuri’s chest like a stone thrown into water, leaving little ripples of realization in its wake, because Victor isn’t wrong. Finding that album had been a shock, even if Yuuri’s come to terms with it in the hours since, and Yuuri bites his lower lip.

“Those photos – I wasn’t expecting them,” Yuuri says. “So it was shocking to find so many of them. But you know, Phichit posted photos of me all the time when we were Detroit, and I never asked him to stop because Phichit knows what my limits are. He pushes at them quite a bit, but he’ll never cross them, and you’re the same. So it’s okay – _really_ okay,” Yuuri continues on, narrowing his eyes a little, overriding Victor’s instinctive protest, “I mean, all the photos you took of me, they’re all semi-public moments anyway, and there’s nothing inherently private or secret about them. You don’t share them with anyone else, and it’s _you_. I trust you. They’re unexpected, but it’s all right. I just want to understand why.”

Victor’s eyes are incredibly blue, and they don’t waver. Yuuri does his best to stare back calmly. Victor must find whatever he’d been looking for; Yuuri doesn’t quite realize how tense Victor was until his entire body loosens, losing the rigidness of panic and alarm. He leans forward and Yuuri meets him halfway, pulling his glasses off with his free hand so they can press their foreheads together.

“Being back in St. Petersburg has been more difficult than I expected.” Victor’s voice is very soft, a confession whispered into the sacred space between them. Yuuri’s eyes flash entirely open in surprise. “Coaching and competing professionally at the same time have their hardships, but I know how to deal with that. Leaving Hasetsu and coming back to the place that should be familiar and comforting and _home_ and finding out that it’s not – I’d never been away from St. Petersburg for so many months, not before Hasetsu, and so I didn’t realize how moving back would affect me.” Victor huffs out a quiet sigh, and his breath feathers across Yuuri’s cheeks. “The city has moved on while the memory of it stayed stagnant in my mind. Everything is subtly different, even the rink at the Sports Palace that had been my refuge for so long. I was lost.”

Yuuri’s words threaten to choke on something that feels suspiciously like guilt, but he forces himself to speak them anyway. “I never realized. Victor, I—”

Victor pulls back a little, just enough so he can rub his thumb across the bridge of Yuuri’s cheekbones. “I never said anything, not really. We’re incredibly busy people and you’re – we both are – in the midst of a very busy season. It’s not that I intended to keep it a secret, but it’s something I myself have to deal with.” He gives a little laugh. “In a way, it’s easier not to talk about it, because if I don’t acknowledge how lost I feel out loud, then it can’t possibly be true. It’s illogical, but somehow it felt safer, not talking about it.”

Yuuri empathizes with that feeling so greatly that it makes his heart ache. “I understand.”

“Mm.” A small smile flickers across Victor’s lips. “I know the move here has been hard on you as well. You’d finally gone home to Hasetsu after so many years abroad, and you didn’t even have a year there before you had to leave. And St. Petersburg is so different from Detroit or Hasetsu. I didn’t want to add my hardships to yours unless I really needed to.”

Victor bows his head, and Yuuri wants so badly to engulf him in a hug, to give him all the love and consideration he deserves the way Victor clearly has done for Yuuri this entire time. But there are a few things he needs to clear up first, so Yuuri pulls their clasped hands to his chest, holds Victor close without breaking eye contact.

“I wish I could spend more time in Hasetsu with my family and Yuu-chan and the others, but leaving Hasetsu wasn't as hard on me as you probably think it is.” Yuuri closes his eyes briefly, lets himself recall his childhood, dreams and fears and all. “I’ve always harboured a sense of restlessness in Hasetsu, even as a child, because I knew that there was a bigger world out there. Being certified by the JSF was one thing, but if I wanted to become a top figure skater I knew I had to leave, and I wanted so badly to skate on the same ice as you. Detroit was both wonderful and difficult, but I adapted. I became used to the greater world beyond the small concerns of a town, a life where I chased my dreams by competing and travelling internationally. And then I had to go back.”

Victor stares at him with wide, wide eyes. Yuuri has spent the entire season speaking of how much Hasetsu means to him, but it doesn’t mean he didn’t hold some resentment and even fear towards his hometown, even if that’s no longer true. There are reasons why Yuuri didn’t go back to visit even once during his five years abroad, after all.

“I made the right decision, going back to Hasetsu. I’d gained so much by leaving, but it meant I also left a lot of people and things behind. So I went back and found pieces of myself again, and then _you_ came.” Yuuri’s hand tightens around Victor’s. “I might have already been in motion, but you came and lit the real fire of motivation in me. You helped me find the confidence I needed to succeed on the ice again, and not a single day was the same; every day was an adventure even in sleepy seaside Hasetsu, and a huge part of why I felt so settled was because you were there. And St. Petersburg is different, yes, but it isn’t as big a change as I thought it would be. I might not know the language or the culture very well, but I’m still skating, I have friends here, and I have you. I’m okay, because you’re here with me.”

There are tears gathering at the corners of his eyes by the time Yuuri finishes, and he just manages to draw in a shuddery breath before Victor crushes him in a kiss, desperate heat and movement, although the hand cupping the back of Yuuri’s head to hold him close is achingly gentle. Yuuri kisses back fiercely, tasting salt between their lips, and lets the undeniable physicality of Victor's presence smother the sobs catching in his chest.

By the time they part Victor is more than a little teary eyed himself. “Yuuri,” he breathes, and Yuuri feels a shiver go down his spine at the devotion in his voice. “It’s the same for me. Whenever I felt overwhelmed by everything that St. Petersburg no longer is, I’d go to you. When I miss Hasetsu, you reassure me with touches and patiently share anecdotes about Mari and your parents and Minako and Yuuko and the triplets or even that old man who is always fishing on the bridge on the way to the Ice Castle, and it helps.”

“Do I?” Yuuri asks, because even though Victor’s just said it he needs that clear cut confirmation.

“You do,” Victor says. “I don’t always have good days, but even then it feels like things will somehow turn out all right. When I’m exhausted, and the RSF is hounding me for coaching and competing at the same time, when St. Petersburg feels more foreign than familiar; even when everything is different and difficult there is one constant, and that’s you.”

Victor’s smile is soft and tender and all the more precious for its rarity – he’s usually so exuberant, the consummate performer, that it’s easy for the world to accept that persona as all that he is, and never see the quieter, sillier and more vulnerable man underneath. Yuuri bites down hard on his lower lip, because it would be ridiculous to start crying all over again.

“And sometimes I just need a reminder. I’m always taking photos because the past twenty years of my life have been a blur of competitions and people and places that I don’t really remember, but the photos are evidence that I experienced it, that for a brief moment I had that connection to that place or those people. And that’s why I started taking photos of you. Just little moments, of you enjoying yourself and adapting so well at the rink and getting along with the people I consider family. Seeing you happy is more reassuring than the dissonance being in this city makes me feel at times. So when I need a little dose of you and you can’t physically be there, I have all these photos on my phone to tide me over until I can see you again.”

“And that’s why you have an entire album dedicated to photos of me,” Yuuri whispers and gives in to his earlier impulse, finally letting go of Victor’s hand to throw his arms around Victor instead, tucking his head into the curve of Victor’s neck.

“Yes,” Victor murmurs back, his voice sticking just a little, and strokes the tips of his fingers into Yuuri’s hair, soothing. “Is that all right?”

Yuuri hugs Victor tighter. “Yeah.”

Victor doesn't say a word, simply presses his face into Yuuri's hair, and the two of them just breathe, for long, long minutes. Victor's heartbeat jumps rhythmically under Yuuri's ear, and Yuuri listens to the cadence of it until it finally slows into calmness.

Finally, Yuuri sighs and settles more comfortably into Victor, turning so he can grab Victor's phone from where it'd been abandoned between the cushions. It opens back onto that unnamed folder and Victor breathes out a quiet breath against Yuuri's temple, watching as Yuuri flicks slowly through the photos. "The photos from our Russian food tour would fit right in here too."

"Reexploring St. Petersburg with you has definitely helped me feel more at home, yes. But there's something very appealing about candid photographs, of seeing you in your element without distracting you with my presence. Sometimes there's this incredibly emotive expression on your face, and reaching out to you would break the spell." Victor chuckles, and Yuuri feels more than hears it, vibrating against his skin. "There are some parts of you that I wish I could capture, private moments when pulling out my phone wouldn't be very appropriate."

"Really? Such as?"

"The look on your face just before I kiss you, sometimes. When you've said something poignant and tender and profound and you don't even realize it yourself, because that's just the way you are." Victor tilts his head to look down at Yuuri for a long while, a familiar smile, soft and knowing, touching his lips. "The way you look, right now."

Part of Yuuri just wants to shut his eyes and let himself sink back into Victor's embrace, but the greater part of him doesn't want to look away either. He lifts his hand and runs his fingers lightly over Victor's lower lip, lingering at the corner of his mouth. Yuuri loves this particular smile of Victor's as well; he's seen it several times before, in fact, usually in similar contexts.

Contexts that include moments that Victor just said he wished he could capture.

"Wait," Yuuri says slowly, "So all those times you said you were memorizing the moment, you really were taking a mental picture in your head? Because you couldn't take an actual photo?"

Victor hums, noncommittal. Yuuri leans back, narrows his eyes as if he might starve off the oncoming blush that way, and prods Victor's chest with one finger.

"When else? I've seen that look on your face a lot."

Victor's eyes flicker. "You've told me time and again that I'm not allowed to take pictures in the hot springs baths, so I don't. But my favourite mental picture is you, in the bathtub. With your hair wet and slicked back and you’re leaning over the side to pat Makkachin." His tone remains light, teasing laughter dancing in his voice, but Victor isn't joking. Not even by half. "The two most beloved people in my life, looking absolutely gorgeous and existing in a quiet moment together in our home." He shrugs, and even that casual movement is elegant. "I'm not that good of a man, so after a while I started knocking on the bathroom door before coming in, to spare myself the temptation."

Yuuri isn't entirely sure what his expression looks like at that moment but he must look ridiculous, mouth agape in shock.

The teasing slant to Victor's smile turns genuine. "Don't tell me you wouldn't be more self-conscious than you already were, if I really did have semi-nude pictures of you that I took in secret. I mean, those photos of you pole-dancing in your underwear and a single tie are one thing—"

Yuuri seals one hand over Victor's mouth. "Yes, thank you, that's very considerate of you. No more revealing photos, and let's not mention those banquet photos again today; I already know you and Chris are going to be insufferable if he really does manage to integrate it into one of his routines."

Victor licks Yuuri's hand, and when Yuuri glares at him, presses a kiss to the center of Yuuri's palm. Yuuri glares more, and Victor reaches up to tug Yuuri's hand away.

"That banquet was one of the most delightful nights of my life," Victor says. "The first of very many wonderful occasions that I got to share with you. I'm glad I have all these footages of that night, especially since you don't remember any of it—"

Yuuri makes a face. It's true that Yuuri's a wild and unpredictable drunk, but Victor's a fine one to talk; he's quite the menace to everyone's dignity when he's had enough to get tipsy.

"—but there's one thing better than any photo, any video."

He knows that Victor is waiting for him to ask the question, so Yuuri indulges him. "And what would that be?"

Victor curls his fingers into Yuuri's, draws his hand close so he can press a kiss to the gold ring on Yuuri's ring finger, lips lingering. "Actually living the moments with you."

Is it possible to feel one's heart stop and race like a runaway horse at the same time? Maybe that's why Yuuri feels so light-headed and giddy. "You horrible romantic."

"Horrible," Victor says, "but still yours. Always."

Yuuri isn’t ever going to recover from this curious condition called love; he never wants to.

\--

> From: Nishigori Yuuko  
>  To: Katsuki Yuuri  
>  Subject: Re: Exhibition skate
> 
> You know I'm always going to swear by that beautiful duet version of _Stammi Vicino_ , but you're right; it'd be hard to top that exhibition performance, ever, so it's a good idea to have something new for the rest of the season.
> 
> Verdict: I love it. It's such a gorgeous but fun piece! Running towards something, working your way towards a goal and enjoying yourself all the way, because you know someone you care about is at the end of the road waiting for you; it's something all of us can relate to. Love is a powerful motivator, after all. Victor didn't choreograph all of it alone, right? That choreographic sequence is just so absolutely you, I would be able to tell even if I started watching the routine halfway.
> 
> I miss seeing you on the ice at the Ice Castle, so thanks for always getting Victor to send me the videos he takes of you practicing. He has a really good eye! Almost as good as the official broadcasts. I know enough from the girls how hard it can be to catch all a figure skater's movements in the frame, especially when you're transitioning so quickly from element to element, but I suppose Victor's had a lot of practice. He should share more photos of you performing on the ice as well – or does he not take any beyond the practice videos, because you told him not to ever take his eyes off you?
> 
> It's been wonderful watching you put your exhibition skate together piece by piece. I'm keeping the video safe from the girls, I promise. I'm keeping it from Takeshi too; he cried again during your duet, did you know? I want him to see your new exhibition piece for the first time when it all comes together, costume and audience and all.
> 
> Please tell me that Victor is doing a complementary piece for his exhibition skate. And when you both podium at Worlds, you could put your two routines together! Or is that too predictable for the both of you? (´ ᗨ `)
> 
>   
>  Yuuko

\--

The contents of Yuuko's latest email rattles around Yuuri's mind at breakfast, all through his morning run, and lingers even when he's under the shower back at the apartment. He's glad she likes his new exhibition skate because Yuuko's been involved with figure skating so long and so deeply that she knows a memorable routine when she sees one – not based solely on the beauty of the technical elements but in the narrative, the emotional impact of the entire performance.  Yuuri trusts her judgment; she's right about the exhibition skate, and she's right about Victor.

For someone who loves taking photos – especially now that Yuuri knows that they are for more than just sentimental reasons – Victor never actually takes any when Yuuri is on the ice. Yuuri suspects that if Victor isn't Yuuri's coach and didn't have to film Yuuri's routines as a way to help him compare and improve his skate elements, he would watch each and every performance without ever taking his eyes off Yuuri, just as Yuuri told him to.

It is a gentler realization, but it's no less impactful than when Yuuri discovered that unnamed folder full of secret photos.

Yuuri shoves his head into the shower stream, lets the water pound into his hair and eyes and ears and drown out the thoughts in his head for a while, until he has to pull back so he can breathe.

How did Yuuri get so lucky, to meet someone like Victor?

Whatever Victor's reasons, he's made it clear time and again that he will always choose Yuuri, wholeheartedly and without reservation. Yuuri's just going to have to keep trying his best.

A best that includes getting to the rink on time, instead of running late like he sometimes does.

Yuuri shuts off the water, the sudden quiet a reprieve, like the calm after a storm. His heart is still fluttering away, not quite anxious, just—aware, and Yuuri can’t help the wry smile.

It’s going to be an interesting day at the rink, one of the days where he’ll skate or work out on his own for a while before Victor joins him after his own practice time on the ice. They’ll both be in mercurial moods today.

He’s barely dressed and still rubbing a towel through his hair when a gentle scratching comes from the bathroom door, following by a muffled, inquisitive bark. Yuuri laughs and goes to let Makkachin in. She pads in, looks around and lets out a soft whine, seeming almost disappointed that she won’t be getting a warm steam nap today, and flops down at Yuuri’s feet, tail wagging slowly.

“Sorry,” Yuuri says, scratching her behind the ears. “Victor’s already at the rink though, and I can’t let him get too far ahead of me, can I?”

Makkachin gives a bark, and Yuuri takes that as affirmation. He pats her one last time and goes back to the sink to deal with his hair, swiping a finger across his phone to check for the time—

And the thought hits him like a sudden hug from the back, inescapable and undeniable.

Yuuri’s just fresh from a shower, his hair wet and his muscles loose and languid after the long morning run, half-dressed and standing in the middle of their bathroom. It’s not quite the same as Victor’s favourite mental image of Yuuri in the bathtub, but Makkachin’s even here with him.

Yuuri stares down at his phone, because—

Yuuri’s not the biggest fan of selfies, although he’s always game when someone else is holding the phone or camera. If Phichit wants a dozen photos of them posing by the audience stands, who is Yuuri to deny him? But photographs capture so much, and it’s only upon the ice that Yuuri feels comfortable enough to broadcast his emotions and intentions, where his performances follow a theme but are still open to interpretation. Off the ice, any official message or photo he posts will become his personal statement, and Yuuri’s been happy letting his friends and Victor post on his behalf, since that always gives him some distance to hide behind.

But this. This is different, this is Yuuri taking the initiative, it's Yuuri offering, earnestly and without coercion.

This is Yuuri wanting to do this, because it matters to Victor and would make him happy, and costs Yuuri nothing but a little – well, all right, quite a lot of – embarrassment in return.

He glances at himself in the mirror, just—bare shoulders, his skin still damp, and his hair an incredible mess. Yuuri rucks one hand through his hair, pushes back his bangs so his face is actually visible – his hair really is getting too long – and snaps the photo before he can think too much about it.

Candids, right? Victor had said he liked candids.

The photo... does not turn out quite like what Yuuri expects.

It’s not perfect, because Yuuri doesn’t have Phichit’s instinct or Victor’s years of experience for the perfect selfie, but it’s... not bad? The bathroom lights do something strange to the photo, turning it sepia-tinged, and steam from Yuuri’s shower must have clung to Yuuri’s phone camera lens, because the photo comes off a little fuzzy at the edges, but there’s Yuuri more or less in the middle of the frame, and somehow the damp inkiness of his hair makes the gold ring on his ring finger stand out all the more.

He sends the image to Victor with the very first line that comes to mind – _for your eyes only_ – and then stares down at the _sent_ and _received by the recipient_ indicators in something a little close to horror. Makkachin whines at him, clearly picking up his distress, and Yuuri tackles her in a desperate hug, pressing his burning face into her fur.

Makkachin licks at his face for a while, and then Yuuri remembers – _the two most beloved people in my life_. It’s almost all he can do to raise the phone again, and Yuuri doesn’t care that his expression is half hidden behind his hair and Makkachin’s fur, he just hurriedly sends the photo with _and here’s Makkachin too!!_ tacked onto it.

And then he puts down the phone and laughs himself absolutely breathless, Makkachin leaning contentedly into him the entire time.

\--

There's still a little buzz of anticipation vibrating under Yuuri's skin when he gets to the rink, and he's distracted enough that when he pushes through the doors of the locker room he gets beaned right in the face by a balled-up wet towel.

Yuuri yelps and ducks instinctively, the only reason why the water bottle - miraculously empty - goes flying over his head. He clutches his skate bag protectively to his chest and stares around him frantically, in case there are more flying projectiles heading his way.

Yurio is glaring at him, looking like if he had pair of sunglasses in his hands he'll definitely fling it right in Yuuri's face instead of at the audience stands this time. The hand clutching his phone twitches, as if Yurio is seriously considering throwing that at Yuuri too. 

"What did you do."

"What? What did I do?" Yuuri echoes back, utterly bewildered. He eyes Yurio cautiously, and dares to lift one hand to fix his glasses.

"You obviously did _something_ ; no way Victor would react that dramatically to anything other than you and maybe that poodle of his. But I'm pretty damn sure he didn't go all googly-eyed and distracted to the point where he skated himself into the boards because of Makkachin!"

"Oh my goodness, is he okay?"

That seems to be the final straw for Yurio.

"He's more than fine! Think about the rest of us! No one else can get in the rink because he's skating like a fiend! Yakov gave up ordering him off the ice and now the both of them are cooking up some insane routine because apparently Victor comes up with manic-genius surprises that shatter records when he's in this kind of mood!"

"Yurio," Yuuri says, "I think you're cracking your phone case."

Yurio lets out an inarticulate sound of pure rage. Yuuri takes a step back, and fortunately Yurio's phone chimes then. He glances down at his phone, and to Yuuri's surprise, calms right down.

"Get out there and _fix_ him," Yurio orders, already lifting his phone to type back a message. "I want to be able to practice, damn it! I’m going to talk to Otabek, and when I get off the phone you better make sure Victor’s normal again. Or as normal as either of you are ever going to get.”

He pushes past Yuuri, grabbing his empty water bottle from the floor, tugging the hood of his jacket over his hair as he goes. He doesn't look the least bit winded. Yuuri knows just how hard Yurio works at practice sessions now; he really must not have gotten much time on the ice at all.

Yuuri hadn't looked at his phone even once after he let go of Makkachin and finished dressing, the only way he could make it to the rink without combusting in embarrassment. Yakov has quite a strict policy against phones on the ice – a policy, Yuuri learnt from Georgi of all people, that Yakov implemented nearly a decade ago mainly because of Victor – and Victor should have been in the middle of practice when Yuuri sent those photos. He does, however, have a sixth sense for when Yuuri messages him; Yuuri checks now, and sure enough, there are the _read by the recipient_ marks next to the two photos.

But there isn't a single response from Victor after that.

Yuuri had planned to do run-throughs of his routines in the dance studio in an effort to clear his mind, but it looks like he's going to have to get out on the ice instead, if only to stop Yurio from attempted homicide when he gets back.

He puts away his glasses, laces up his skating boots and is out by the rink in a matter of minutes, and there Victor is, whirling in a tight sit spin before flowing into camel spin and then a scratch spin, the slow spread of his arms making him appear like an unfurling flower. He comes out of the combination spin and transitions into a step sequence so fluidly that it takes Yuuri's breath away. When Victor concentrates he's almost unparalleled on the ice, even during practice, but there's a gravitas to him today that only really emerges during major competitions, and Yuuri watches, transfixed.

He knows Victor has been refining the preliminary choreographies he skated for the Russian Nationals and Yuuri recognizes enough elements that this has to be his free skate, but the routine feels completely different. It's a bit of a surprise when Victor doesn't actually take any of the quad jumps, just marks them in place in the choreography or downgrades them to triples to keep the flow of the performance, and he never quite ends the routine, often looping back to test a variation of a sequence. Yakov doesn't intercede, although Yuuri can see him taking notes, and he won't, not when Victor's in the middle of a creative flow like this.

If Victor plans to take back his world records, he certainly has the drive, the skill and the mentality to do it.

The urge to get on the ice is almost a physical hook in Yuuri's chest, but Yurio is right; there's no way anyone would risk getting on the ice when another skater is choreographing like this, sunk in the silent music almost to the exclusion of everything else. Yuuri glances at the locker room doors, wondering how he's going to break the news to Yurio without getting a phone thrown in his face, and suddenly his skin prickles, and Yuuri looks back to find Victor standing across from him on the other side of the boards.

Yuuri's heart jolts; skating in near silence is a mark of an excellent figure skater and Victor is truly one of the best, but that's nothing on the way Victor is looking at him right now, eyes darkened like chips of lapis lazuli, heated.

Oh.

Well, Yuuri supposes his impulsive photos must have made quite the impression.

Yuuri stares right back, his chin lifting, because if it's one thing both of them have in common, it's that when confronted with a direct challenge they dig in and throw themselves headlong into it. Yuuri isn't entirely sure what's going through Victor's mind right now, but he thinks of that first night at the Rostelecom Cup, how he'd snatched back Victor's unwavering attention, shown up all of Russia _and_ secured yet another personal best for his SP score, and grins.

"You don't own the ice, Victor, so you're going to have to share," Yuuri says, and Victor's eyes go impossibly darker.

"Vitya," Yakov barks from the other side of the rink. "Focus!"

"I'm focused." Victor doesn't look away, and his voice is very much in his coach's persona, commanding and confident and in control, but there's also this odd growl beneath it, almost sub-vocal, just a roughness to it that turns it—

Hungry. Predatorial. But tempered.

Victor skates away with a flash of silver and gold, the morning light gleaming off his hair and the blades of his skates and reflecting off the ice, lighting Victor up like he's haloed, hallowed. Untouchable.

He's not, at least not by Yuuri, who has all the permission in the world to touch, but not at the moment.

Suddenly, Yuuri understands the appeal of candid photographs.

His hand goes automatically to the phone in his jacket pocket. Yuuri would normally leave it in the locker room or place it at the side of the rink, but he makes no move to take it out of his pocket, just curls his hand tighter around it.

Victor has moved up to jumps now, testing different entries, although he only jumps when he's on one side of the rink, leaving the other half mostly clear, and Yuuri smiles at the sight.

Perhaps it's time he started a private Victor-based album of his own.

Yuuri removes his skate guards, and steps onto the ice.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Some notes, because this subject is very close to my heart:**  
>  The phenomenon Victor (and to some extent, Phichit and Yuuri) experience when they move back to their home countries is known as [reverse culture shock](http://www.expatica.com/nl/moving-to/Moving-home-Reverse-culture-shock_104957.html). This is experienced when "returning to a place that one expects to be home but actually is no longer, is far more subtle, and therefore more difficult to manage than outbound shock precisely because it is unexpected and unanticipated." A person who moves abroad, especially cross-continentally or culturally has often learned new patterns of behaviour and thinking and set up new rhythms in their lives to fit into the host country. When they return to their home country, the shock happens when they suddenly realize that both they and their home culture have changed, and that's the first time they have had the opportunity to experience any of those changes. 
> 
> It varies from person to person, but I think this would hit Victor a lot harder than the other skaters, simply because Victor has never left St. Petersburg for extended periods of time before he went to Hasetsu, and he did it at a much later stage of his life than Yuuri or Phichit (who presumably left home at 17/18-ish). 
> 
> Most people understand culture shock, but don't expect the reverse. If you're Russian, isn't it strange for you to feel lost in your home Russian city? Expats like Yuuri will get a pass much easier than Victor, whom people will expect to just slip back into "normal" life.
> 
> \--  
> This fic was inspired by [art-rmlb](http://art-rmlb.tumblr.com/)'s beautiful art and their prompt: "When I was drawing, I pretty much had the idea that Yuuri was visiting Victor during a quiet period between competitions and practice; while relaxing Yuuri notices Victor snapping photos of him. He is used to it since Victor used to manage his social media when he was his coach. Later on they go through some of Victor's photo albums, and Yuuri finds one that is just full of photos mostly focused on him and he questions Victor about it." 
> 
> Yes, I pretty much wrote the entire fic to set up the premise for Victor's Yuuri-centric album, and because it's from Yuuri's POV, it became this giant thing about Yuuri adapting to St. Petersburg instead! 
> 
> Please remember to view [art-rmlb's artwork](http://art-rmlb.tumblr.com/post/162393924082/the-art-half-of-the-yurionicebigbang-the-other) and drop them a comment/like/reblog/all of the above for their fantastic artwork. Like Victor, I am likely biased as heck, but they've drawn the most iconic scenes in this fic beautifully and given those moments life in a way I can never do with words. So please send lots of love their way! Thanks ♥
> 
>  
> 
> [The official fic/art submission post on Tumblr :D](http://yurionicebigbang.tumblr.com/post/162413451325/this-curious-condition-called-love-author)


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